Midnight at the Oasis: His Majesty's Mistake

She was packing.

She must assume that she was going somewhere.

“That was a week ago,” he answered, leaning against the door frame, arms folded over his chest. Why pack now? Where did she think she was going? To London? On his plane? At his expense? How fascinating.

Emmeline nodded, emerging from the closet with a half dozen pairs of delicate high heels.

His brow lowered as he watched her place the shoes in tidy pairs on the bed next to her other garments. “And just how long were you planning on leaving my secretary in Raguva, Your Highness?”

Emmeline glanced up from the shoes, wincing at his sarcasm. He’d finally gotten to her. “I … I don’t know,” she confessed, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her clothes and shoes. “I haven’t figured that part out.”

His gaze raked her up and down, expression merciless. “Unbelievable.” His chest felt blisteringly hot while the rest of him remained cold.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even try.

He took a step toward her, and then another, hands clenched at his sides. “Who do you think you are? How could you put my assistant in this position? Do you know what you’ve cost her?”

And still she said nothing.

“Her job.” He was so angry, so very angry and yet Emmeline appeared remote, detached, as if she were above the fray. “She’s gone. Fired. I’ve no need of her services anymore—not here with me, or in London, or back in Dallas, either. She’s gone, finished, so be sure to give yourself a good pat on your back.”

Emmeline’s body jerked, shoulders twisting. “But you’ve made it clear that there was no one like Hannah—”

“There wasn’t. But you changed that when you asked her to shift her loyalty from me to you—”

“She didn’t. She hasn’t!” Emmeline leaned urgently forward. “She is still very loyal to you. Completely loyal. She loves working for you.”

Finally, he thought. Finally some reaction. Some emotion. But it was too little, too late, for all of them. He shrugged indifferently. “Good. She’s yours. She can now work for you.”

“Please don’t do that. Please. Hannah loves her job.”

“Maybe she should have thought of that before she headed off to Raguva, pretending to be you.” He started for the bedroom door, but paused to turn to look at the princess who still sat frozen on the edge of the bed. “And I’m not sure why you’re packing. I don’t know where you think you’re going, or how you’re getting there. Because you’re in my desert, my world, princess, and you’re stuck here with me.”

And then he was gone, leaving the apartment with his emotions running high, temper hot, feeling even angrier and more punitive than he had an hour before.

There would be consequences. And she would not like them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMMELINE’S legs shook as the door closed behind Makin. She’d been shaking ever since he’d confronted her in the bathroom with the truth. Shaking with fear.

But now he was gone and she was glad. Glad he’d left her alone. Glad the truth was finally out. She’d hated lying to him. Hated pretending to be his perfect Hannah. And now she didn’t have to lie anymore.

It was better now that he knew the truth. Even if it meant he’d never speak to her again. Better this way. Better to be honest about everything.

And he could say what he wanted about her. He could ridicule her and despise her, but she wouldn’t give him the ability to hurt her anymore. Emmeline left the cool serenity of the white, apricot and gold bedroom for the garden.

She paced the private courtyard with the intensely sweet perfume of antique roses scenting the air as the hot yellow sun beat down, heating her skin. For many this palace would be a kind of paradise. But Emmeline had grown up in palaces surrounded by high stone walls and uniformed soldiers who changed position every four hours. She’d never been the tourist on the outside, admiring the pageantry and elegance. She’d been the captive royal inside the palace walls, locked in for her own protection.

And now, Kasbah Raha was just one more beautiful gilded cage.

One more luxurious but secure building to hold her, confine her, trap her.

And Makin was one more powerful man who thought he could intimidate her. Belittle her. Control her.

But she was done being manipulated and controlled. It was time she grew up. Wised up. Opened her eyes and used her brain. She had a good brain, too, and at twenty-five it was time she owned her life and made decisions for her future.

A future with a baby. Her baby. And how she loved her baby already. Her baby was the most important thing now.

“You look like a tiger in the zoo.”

Emmeline jumped at the sound of Makin’s deep voice and turned to see him inside the doorway, in the cool shadows of the air-conditioned living room. “So much for privacy,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

He shrugged. “You didn’t answer the door.”

“So you just let yourself in?”

“If I’m concerned about the safety of one of my guests.”

“And so now you’re concerned about me?”

He shrugged again. “I’m responsible for all the guests in my home.”

The edge of her mouth curled up. “Did you forget something? Or have you thought of another way to humiliate me?”

“I don’t have to, Your Highness. You do a great job of humiliating yourself.” He gestured toward a bench in the dappled shade. “But I do have news. Sit.”

She bristled inwardly at his sarcasm but refused to let him see how much he affected her. There was no reason for him to affect her. She told herself she didn’t care for him. Certainly didn’t need him. They were equals. And adversaries. “I’d rather stand.”

“You’re seven weeks pregnant. I’d rather you sit.”

It was clear from the curt tone that he expected her to obey, but he forgot that he had no power over her. “You might, but I’d ask you to remember that I’m not Hannah—”

“Trust me, I do,” he cut her off with a sigh. “So sit. There is something I must tell you, and it’s not easy.”

Emmeline’s stomach fell and her knees went weak. Alarm shot through her. “Alejandro?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She put a hand to her belly, sixth sense telling her that Makin’s news wasn’t good.

Crossing to the marble bench in the dappled shade, Emmeline sat down, feeling the tug of the lace skirt around her hips and how her ivory silk blouse clung to her damp, warm skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Emmeline’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach. “What happened?”

“He went into cardiac arrest a couple of hours ago. And even though they had the best doctors and nurses in all of Miami, they couldn’t get his heart beating again.”

It took her a second to process everything. “He’s gone.”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes, besieged by wildly different emotions. Shock, grief, regret. But the grief and sorrow weren’t for herself, or Alejandro. They were for Alejandro’s five children. Their lives would now be changed forever.

“Are you feeling faint?” Makin asked.

She shook her head, opened her eyes. “No.”

“This must be quite a blow.”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry.”

She pushed a loose tendril of hair back from her face. “You didn’t like him.”

“He was a father.”

She nodded. “I feel for his children,” she answered, realizing now that her child would never have the chance to know his or her father. “I wonder if they know yet. I wonder if his wife knows.”

“Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

“What?”

“To pretend you care about his family …?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You chase Ibanez, sleep with him—”

“I didn’t know he was married until you told me, and I didn’t chase him. He chased me.”

“So that makes it okay to sleep with a married man?”

“No! Heavens, no! I’m horrified, disgusted. I made a terrible mistake.”

“And your engagement? Did you not know about that, either?”

She swallowed around the thick lump filling her throat. No wonder Makin enjoyed ridiculing her. She sounded pathetic. Stupid beyond belief. “I did.”

“That’s a relief, because I’d hate to think that everyone but you knew.”

She winced. Blood rushed to her cheeks again. “He pursued me, not the other way around. Some days he’d call or text over and over, and this went on for years.”

“So you’re saying it is okay to cheat?”

“No. But I wasn’t married to Zale yet, and I was still hoping to marry for love, not money. My parents knew I didn’t want an arranged marriage. I wanted a love match, and I thought since Alejandro loved me, we would have that.”

“If you didn’t want to marry Zale, why didn’t you say no? Why enter the arrangement in the first place?”

Makin Al-Koury was a powerful man, and he understood a great deal about politics and economics. But he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know what it was like to be a woman. Much less a beautiful, sheltered young woman with no vocation, few practical skills and a numbing lack of real world experience. Emmeline’s only purpose and power lay in her marriage ability. “Because I didn’t have a choice.”

“You were forced into the arrangement?”

She shrugged, worn out from trying to make him understand. He’d been raised by different parents, who had a different plan for him than hers had had for her. “There are different kinds of pressure. It’s not always about physical force. Women can be intimidated emotionally, psychologically—” She broke off, shook her head. “But that’s neither here nor there. The fact is, I have known since I was a little girl that my parents would choose my husband for me. They made sure that from a young age I knew my duty.”

“Apparently they didn’t. Because everyone but King Patek knows you’ve been hooking up with Ibanez over the years.”

Emmeline flushed. “That’s not true. We never hooked up.”

“So you’re not pregnant?”

“Yes. Yes, I did sleep with him. But it was only one time, and he was my. first.” Her voice wobbled. “I was a virgin until then.”

Makin snorted with derision.

Emmeline’s flush deepened, heat spreading through her body until she tingled all over. “Believe what you want. I don’t have to answer to you, or impress you, or try to make you like me. You and I will never see eye to eye—” She broke off abruptly and turned away, horrified to discover that she was about to cry.

Thank God he didn’t say anything right away, or laugh. Thank God there was just the bubble and splash of the fountain. But the silence stretched too long. Emmeline glanced at Makin and saw his expression.

Hard. Unforgiving.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by his judgment, knowing that others would look at her the exact same way. Including her parents. It would hurt. But it wouldn’t kill her. Over time she’d learn to weather the disapproval without letting it get to her. She’d learn she could stand on her own two feet just fine.

“I know you don’t think much of me,” she said. “But I will be a good mother. I will do what’s right for my child, starting with seeing a doctor as soon as I get back to Europe.”

“Then let’s stop wasting time and get you on a plane for Brabant—”

“I’m not going to Brabant. I’m going to London.”

“Not back to Brabant?”

“No. Never.”

“But that is your home, your country—”

“Not anymore.”

“You can’t change your birthright, Your Highness. You are descended from one of the oldest royal families in all of Europe. Your bloodline ties you to the very country.”

“I will find a new country to call home. Lots of royals do it.”

“Yes, in countries where monarchy has been replaced by democracy or socialism, but Brabant is still a constitutional monarchy and as far as I know, you are the rightful heir to the throne. Why would you give that up?”

“Because I’m not the rightful heir,” she said huskily, walking away from him to approach the pool. “I’m not a true heir at all—”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She shrugged. “But true. And that’s why I won’t be going home, and why I won’t be asking for forgiveness or mercy. I don’t have to tell my parents anything. I’m twenty-five, of majority, and have access to the trust set up for me by my late grandfather. If I am careful, it’s more than enough for me to live on.”

“And your child?” he asked. “If you walk away from them, he or she may never be accepted by your family.”

“I am sure he—or she—won’t be,” she said after a moment.

“Certainly not, if you plan on running away … hiding in the English countryside?”

“I wouldn’t be hiding. I’d be living quietly, raising my child with, I hope, some privacy and dignity—”

“You hope?” His mouth tightened. “Is that your bright plan? To hope to have some privacy and dignity?” He made a rough, low sound of disgust. “Good luck, Your Highness. You’re going to need it.” With another low, derisive snort, he turned around and walked away.

She drew a quick breath, feeling as if he’d slapped her. “I might be running away but you’re great at walking away,” she called after him, hands curling into fists, her voice vibrating with emotion.

“What?”

“You can do it because you have power,” she said as he turned to face her. “Most of us can’t. We have to stand there and take it. But you don’t have to. You’re a man, and one of the world’s richest. Everybody needs you. Everybody wants your approval or your protection. It must feel good.”

He started back toward her. “How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice? You are a guest in my home. You are completely dependent on me—”

“I didn’t ask to be.”

“No, you didn’t ask. You forced yourself on me by impersonating my assistant.”

“Then let me go.”

“I would love you to go.”

She visibly flinched, stung. And yet, why did she care what he thought? Why did he have the power to hurt her? Swallowing hard, she walked around the pool and toward the house. “Great. That makes two of us. If you’ll have a driver take me to the airstrip, I’ll fly out immediately.”

“With what plane?”

She stopped short. “The one you were going to send Hannah on.”

“Oh, my plane. But that was for Hannah. You can send for your own.”

“I don’t have my own plane.”

“I guess you’ll need to ask your parents.”

She clamped her jaw tight. “That’s exactly what I meant when I said you love your power. You want the world to think you’re this good, caring person. You put on conferences and host events and fund research, but you do it to prove you are superior.”

“Someone should teach your some manners.”

“It won’t be you. You have none.”

“Perhaps I should drop you off along the desert highway. see if any of my good Bedouin tribe members happen along and let you hitchhike a ride home. Or they may not. You might end up as desert road kill.”

“What a gentleman.”

“No. Wouldn’t claim that one at all. But then, why do I need to be a gentleman? You’re no lady.”

“Having fun now, are you?”

A hot light flickered in his silver eyes. “No. Not at all. So help me understand what it is you want from me. Do you want pity? Sympathy? Poor Emmeline, poor little princess, she’s been so mistreated—”

“Go to hell,” she gritted, walking past him into the living room. He was so appallingly chauvinistic. So arrogant and self-righteous that she couldn’t even believe this was the same man she’d kissed last night. And last night had been lovely. For a moment last night she’d felt something beautiful and good but all the goodness was gone, leaving her shaken and disillusioned.

“Where are you going?” Sheikh Al-Koury demanded, his sharp voice followed her into the living room.

“To finish packing. Your Bedouin tribesmen sound delightful compared to you.”

CHAPTER NINE

WHEN Makin Al-Koury decided to act, he acted swiftly. And this time he’d acted so swiftly Emmeline’s head still spun.

She couldn’t quite believe she was seated on his jet as it taxied down the runway preparing for takeoff only thirty minutes after she’d told him his Bedouin tribesmen sounded delightful.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say. But then, Emmeline had struggled with containing her emotions ever since she was a child. One day she would learn control. One day she’d bite her tongue.

But until then, she’d suffer the consequences as she was suffering now.

Because she wasn’t just flying to Brabant. She was being accompanied home by Sheikh Makin Al-Koury who had decided that she couldn’t be trusted to make it home to see her parents. No, he’d decided to escort her all the way to the d’Arcy palace and leave her in her parents’ care.

What a prince.

The jet was picking up speed, racing down the narrow black runway they’d landed on just twenty-four hours before.

It was déjà vu. Everything was as it had been—they were buckled into the very same seats they’d sat in on the way to Raha. She felt the same emotions, too. Anxiety. Dread. Fear of the unknown.

Emmeline felt Makin look at her as she choked on a gasp when the jet lifted off the ground in a dramatically steep ascent.

“Nervous flyer?” he asked.

“No.” She forced herself to take a deep breath. She wasn’t a nervous flyer, but she certainly hadn’t expected to spend the rest of the day in Makin’s company. It had been a tough morning and now it would be a very long day. “Just a little queasy from takeoff.”

He hesitated, before asking gruffly, “Do you need anything?”

Her head snapped up in shock, lips parting slightly at his audacity. Did she need anything? Was he serious?

He was hauling her—by force—across the Middle East to Europe, to return her—against her will—to the royal palace in Brabant, and he wondered if she needed anything?

This. This was exactly what she didn’t get. This is exactly what she didn’t understand about him.

If he was so angry with her—and he was—then why did he care about how she felt? Why ask her about her comfort, or pretend to care about her well-being?

“Aren’t your first guests arriving this afternoon?” she answered, suppressing her confusion, realizing she’d never understand him.

“Yes.”

“You won’t be there.”

“I am fully aware of that.”

“I thought this conference was so important to you.”

“It is.”

“Then shouldn’t you be home, welcoming everyone, instead of flying twenty-nine hundred miles to haul me before my parents?”

“I thought it prudent to get you out of Raha before my guests arrived.”

She saw his expression and understood. “You thought I’d be disruptive.”

She saw that she’d hit the nail squarely on the head.

He didn’t trust her. He thought she was a loose cannon, causing trouble wherever she went.

A weight settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. He was no different than her parents. He looked at her and saw what he wanted to see instead of who she really was.

Chest tight, Emmeline glanced away, out the window at the sea of gold sand below. Let Makin think what he wants, she told herself. It doesn’t matter … he doesn’t matter …

And yet in a small part of her heart, she could admit that maybe he did.

It had happened when he’d kissed her.

In Makin’s arms she’d felt not just safe, but … desirable. Beautiful. And she never felt beautiful as a woman. She never felt like a real woman … and she hadn’t, not until Makin kissed her, bringing someone to life inside of her.

The kiss had been the most amazing thing she’d ever felt. And she’d wanted more.

“I’m not dangerous,” she said hoarsely, unable to hold the words in, or hide the hurt.

“You didn’t say dangerous, you said disruptive.”

“I wouldn’t have embarrassed you.”

“I couldn’t have taken the chance.”

“What about your guests? You’re not even going to be there now to greet them as they arrive.”

“My friend Sultan Nuri of Baraka has promised to do the honors.”

Emmeline knew Malek Nuri, had seen him and his wife, the European princess Nicolette Ducasse, at a number of social events over the years. They were a gorgeous couple and so very happy together. “Does he know why you’re not there? Does he know that you feel compelled personally to hand me over to the executioner?”

“You are so dramatic.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“As well as emotional.”

Blood surged to her cheeks. “And you are so critical.”

He studied her from beneath lowered lashes. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”

“I’ve been criticized for being emotional my entire life.”

Makin had been angry when they’d boarded the plane but now, seated across the aisle from Emmeline, he found it impossible to remain upset with her. He didn’t know if it was because she bore such a strong resemblance to Hannah, or if it was because Emmeline was an enigma, but he was intrigued by her and wanted to know more about her. “Who criticizes you?”

“My parents, particularly my mother.”

“What’s her complaint?”

“She has many.” Emmeline wrinkled her nose. “But the chief one seems to be my excessive emotion.”

“Excessive … how?”

She ticked her mother’s complaints off on her fingers. “I’m sensitive. I talk fast. I get nervous. I cry at the drop of a hat.”

His lips twitched. “Do you cry at the drop of a hat?”

“Depends on the hat.”

He grinned, amused, liking this Emmeline. She was unpretentious. Funny. Direct. “Have you and your mother always had a strained relationship?”

“Since birth.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew.”

She suddenly sounded very serious and his brow furrowed. She’d changed into jeans and a white peasant blouse before the flight, and right now with her hair loose and no makeup, she looked young and fresh. Appealing. Like the kind of girl you’d want to take home to meet your parents, and he suddenly wondered what his parents would have thought of Emmeline d’Arcy. They’d known of her, of course, but due to his father’s health, they’d never met her.

“I was emotional as a boy,” he said abruptly. “Sensitive. I’ll never forget my mother pulling me aside when I was around eight or nine and telling me I was a big boy now and too old to cry.”

“Do you remember why you cried?”

“My father had fallen out of his wheelchair. I was scared.”

“But that would be frightening.”

“I would see worse things.”

“Sounds like you had to grow up at quite a young age.”

He shrugged. “My mother needed me. It was important I be strong for her, and my father.”

Emmeline’s expression was troubled and Makin realized the conversation had become too personal. He swiftly changed the subject to lighten the mood. “I’ve never seen you in jeans before.”

Emmeline glanced down, crossed her legs, running a hand over her thigh as she did so. “They’re Hannah’s. And Hannah’s top. I found them buried in the back of her closet.” She suddenly looked at him. “I’m going to return them to her. I promise. I’ll have them dry-cleaned and—”

“That’s between you and Hannah. I imagine she’s had to wear your clothes in Raguva. I can’t picture her playing princess in her wardrobe of brown, beige and gray.”

Emmeline smiled crookedly. “She doesn’t really have a couture wardrobe.”

“No. She’s too practical for that.”

Emmeline ran a hand over the worn denim again. “I’ve never owned a pair of jeans like these. They aren’t the designer ones. They’re real. Broken in, so soft.”

“Hannah was raised on her father’s ranch in Texas, just outside of San Antonio. Has she told you some of her stories about her life on the ranch?”

Emmeline shook her head.

“I think she found it lonely on the ranch. Her father raised her. She didn’t have a mother. She grew up riding and roping and helping with roundups.”